The bluestone floor of the Xuan'an Bureau glowed under the firelight. As the Reincarnation Correction Record burned, there was no scent of char, but rather a faint, wafting fragrance of sandalwood.
Pi Yanlin sprawled on his bamboo daybed, gazing at the interwoven golden-red flames, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It was the most exhausting thing he had done in the one hundred and thirty-seven days since he began his "lying-flat" sign-in routine.
Yet, as the broken strands of black mist dissolved into starlight, the tingling sensation prickling the back of his neck felt more soothing than three bowls of osmanthus wine.
Chapter 159